Weighing In
by HEAR
Summary: Overweight and under-appreciated, Bella has stalled at life at 22. When the chance arises to compete for a spot on a weight loss game show, will she take the opportunity to change her life? AH/OOC *One-Shot for the Indie First Time Writers' Challenge*


"**The Indies First Time Writer Challenge" One-Shot Contest**

**Title: Weighing In**

**Pen name: HEAR**

**Primary Players: Bella **

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: S.M. owns all Twilight characters, I'm just thankful I get to play with them. **

* * *

_Oh. Oh my. Oh my God. Oh my God. Ow. OW! OH MY GOD!!! This hurts! BAD! I knew there would be pain the first time but why didn't anybody tell me it would hurt this bad?! This is not what I expected when I dreamed about this. Not at all. Oh God. Okay, okay, okay... suck it up, Bella, you can do this. You can do this! I can do this! Look at his face. That's what I'll do. I'll focus on that beautiful made-for-TV face of his; maybe that will help. Remember, Bella, you love him. I love him. I have loved him since I first laid eyes on him three years ago. My God, is he beautiful? I never realized how beautiful green could be before I met him. I still can't believe I met him. And now, he's here... with me. And I feel so much… so much… fucking pain!!! OW!!!_

"Okay, I think we need to stop."

"We just barely started. Why do you want to stop?"

_Barely? We'd been going at it for at least an hour now!_

"Um… this is hurting like hell, Edward, and I'm pretty sure something's going to tear that wasn't meant to be torn, so, I'd like to stop. Now."

"No."

_No?_

"No?!"

"No. That's why you're here, because you've always given up too easily. What has giving up ever gotten you before, except one hundred plus pounds of extra body fat, a few stretch marks, bad posture, and a pretty pathetic love affair with food? I mean, come on! You moan when you eat! Who does that?"

_No he didn't. No. He. Didn't. Asshole. Beautiful made-for-TV-faced asshole! I hate him. I hate him with a passion, no, not passion, fire. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns… which, coincidentally, are all apparently imbedded deep in the muscles of my legs burning the shit out of me right this moment! OW!_

"Ow! I don't think it's supposed to burn like this!" I hissed while trying to catch my breath.

"And you would know that how? It burns. It's supposed to. Consider it your body's way of sending you a big fat 'fuck you very much' for the way you've treated it throughout your life."

"Can you not be such an ass? Seriously?"

"You knew my style before you came. You know how we do things here. You know how I operate. If you can't handle me, you shouldn't have come. If you can't handle this, you shouldn't be here. This is not a damn picnic in a meadow. This is real. This is grow up, take responsibility and get your shit together time. I thought that was why you came, but if it's not, do yourself and your fellow contestants a huge favor and leave now. Look around the gym. Do you want this as much as they want this? There are forty-nine other people here ready to change their lives. Why are you here? I thought this was your time. Is this your time?! Is this your _Big Fat Chance_?"

I groaned internally at the mention of the name of the reality show I'd somehow become a part of. I slowed my pace on the torture machine disguised as a treadmill and glanced around the room, taking in the faces of the people around me. Everyone seemed to be in pain. While the degrees of pain may have varied, it was clear everyone was enduring some form of torture. I looked two treadmills down to my left and saw my new roommate, Alice Brandon. Alice and I had hit it off from the moment we'd met the day before. Her face was frozen in a grimace, sweat escaping her jet-black hairline, cascading down her cheeks and darkening the top of her black t-shirt. At that moment, it looked as if nothing could break her concentration. She was 220 pounds of solid determination. I admired that.

I looked back toward my trainer, Edward, his bright green eyes narrowing as he steadily held my gaze.

"Pick up your pace."

"No."

"No, is not an option. Pick up your pace, Bella!"

"No! I need a break, okay?! We can't all be chiseled gods with endless endurance and the fucking fountain of youth dripping out of our pores! You're pushing me and my body a little too hard right now and I'm taking a damn break."

I waited for the treadmill to come to a complete stop, before gingerly stepping off of it. I could feel the eyes of the gym's other occupants on me as I began to take shaky steps towards the exit, glowering at the annoying camera guy who attempted to capture my every movement. As I entered the hallway, the gym doors swinging closed behind me, I scanned my surroundings in search of a bathroom. A few feet down, I spotted the universal iconic image of a faceless, hairless nondescript woman in a dress and lumbered my way in that direction. Flipping the light switch, I moved toward the room's one sink and used both hands to grab onto the smooth, cool, porcelain as I hunched over in an attempt to catch my breath. I stood there for a while, the sound of the harsh fluorescent lights humming to life and my steady, although shaky, breaths the only noises in the room.

As the seconds ticked on, I gradually raised my head, allowing my gaze to drift over the reflection of my face. My skin was flushed a deep shade of pink and glistened with what looked like thousands of tiny beads of sweat. It was a far cry from my normally pallid hue which always seemed far more appropriate for someone Irish, Scottish, or of some other heritage far more exotic than my Germanic roots. The nostrils of my long, thin, nose flared as my body continued to greedily suck in air. My almond shaped eyes, a deep shade of brown and curtained by long, darker brown lashes, filled with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. Pushing myself up to a standing position, I pulled my long dark brown tresses up into a sloppy ponytail using the elastic band I'd been wearing around my wrist.

_Why am I here?_

**x-x-x**

Six months ago, my life had been normal, boring, but normal. Little did I know then, when my best friend Jane came bursting into our shared apartment one evening, screeching about a wonderful surprise she had for me, that I would end up a contestant on America's favorite reality weight loss show, _Big Fat Chance_. Unbeknownst to me, she'd sent in a video of me talking about my life, my dreams, my failures and my successes. A video I had been led to believe was a part of her senior project at Seattle University and would only be viewed by her professor and a few other wannabe journalists in her class.

Instead, it made its way to LA and parts of it would now likely be memorialized for all of time as part of the show's season opener introducing this year's cast of Lovable Losers (their kitschy terminology, not mine). A wonderful surprise it was not. I should have known something was up when she told me it was okay to eat my fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies during filming. I'm pretty sure I sighed and moaned my way through the entire video. Sadistic little bitch, why did she hate me?

"But Bella," she'd whined in that nasally little girl voice of hers, "you've watched every episode of every season of _Big Fat Chance_. Why wouldn't you want to compete yourself? Think about it… If you're one of the finalists you could win the money, have the fame and change your whole damn life! Plus, you'll get to meet Edward Cullen and I know how much you love that man... Oh, Bella, think about it! What if he's your trainer?! How hot would that be?" She batted her eyes at me, grinning and clapping her hands together.

In that moment, I seriously considered pouncing on her. Sure, she was a small little thing, an angelic-faced 21 year-old trapped in the body of a prepubescent 12 year-old, but didn't bad things happen to people in small packages or something like that? I fantasized about the damage my 242 pound frame could cause which brought to mind the scene from the Wizard of Oz when the red-shoed witch was crushed by Dorothy's house. The realization that in that scenario, I would be the house sobered me. I opted for rolling my eyes instead.

"Who said I wanted to meet him in person? I ogle from afar, Jane, from afar. Our love story is a one-sided affair and I'd like to keep it that way. Yes, he's gorgeous. Yes, he's hot. I don't think I'd describe him meeting me as hot. Seriously, Jane, look at me. I am a Honey Bun and that man is a walking, talking, Creamsicle. Speaking of which, are there any left?"

It was Jane's turn to roll her eyes at me. "Really, Bella, enough with the food analogies. And what's wrong with Honey Buns? They're soft and sweet-"

"And sticky and a mess to eat sometimes." I said, cutting her off. "You're right. Forget the food analogy. What in God's name made you think I would want to be a part of something like this? Watching the show doesn't mean I want to be on the show! I watch for entertainment and entertainment only. Jeez. I watch True Blood, too, and trust me I have no desire to become a vampire," I called out over my shoulder as I made my way from the living room to the kitchen in search of a Creamsicle.

"Not to mention," I began a minute later after successfully extricating the last Creamcicle from the freezer, "with my luck, I'd end up with Rosalie Barbie as my trainer and with her tendency to say pretty much whatever the hell enters her mind at any given moment, and my tendency to despise that, I'm pretty sure one of us wouldn't make it off the show alive." Leaning back against the fridge, I pulled off the wrapper and bit through the sweet layer of orange ice in search of the creamy goodness of the vanilla ice cream locked inside. That first taste of vanilla sent a thrill through me and I moaned in satisfaction. Jane called my moans of pleasure 'foodgasms'; I just called them appreciation.

"Is she the one who looks like a model?" Jane asked as she walked into the kitchen. "You could eat her for lunch." She blushed, clearly realizing the way her comment could be interpreted in light of our conversation.

I knew she meant no harm and not wanting her to feel bad I jumped right back in. "Don't let the pretty face fool you, Jane. She could totally take me. She's one tough chick and that husband of hers looks like he eats little boys for breakfast and then wears their underwear."

Jane laughed, stepping to the sink and washing her hands before grabbing a clean glass from the cabinet.

"Oh, she's the one married to that _Star Trek_ guy?" Jane asked as she poured herself a glass of water.

"Track, Jane, _Star Track_. _Star Trek_ has the guy from the Priceline commercials. _Star Track_ is the show with Mr. Trainer to the Stars, Emmett McCarty, whipping yesterday's celebrities back into shape so they can recapture their glory days." I sucked the last of the cream off of the little wooden stick before tossing it in the trash and moving toward the sink to wash my hands.

"You're right," she giggled as she took a sip of her water. "Those little tanks and shorts he wears are obscenely small. You know, they're going to make insanely cute babies one day."

"Um. I don't think people like them procreate. It would mess up their perfectness. They only exist to remind the rest of us that God likes some of us more than others." I turned off the water, drying my hands on a dishtowel and turned toward Jane.

"I had a really shitty day today and I really don't feel like cooking tonight so I think I'm ordering in. What do you want?" I asked as I riffled through the kitchen junk drawer pulling out menus.

"I'll have to pass, Bella. I've got pilates in an hour and then I'm heading over to Demetri's place to study," she said finishing the last of her water and washing the glass out in the sink.

"And how are things going with Seattle U's god of track and field?" I watched as a slow smile crept up her face.

"He's stressed, like every other senior on campus right now, but things are good with us, Bella. Really good." She sighed, leaning back on the sink before continuing. "I think he's the one, Bella. No, scratch that. I _know_ he's the one. He gets me in a way nobody else ever has. I feel like he knows _me_. He knows the tenor of my heart, my soul and my mind, Bella and I can't describe how great it feels to have that kind of deep connection with someone."

I suppressed the frantic urge to roll my eyes again. We'd been here so many times before. Before, Demetri the track god, she had been glued to the hip of Alec, the volleyball player. Before Alec, there had been Felix, the baseball player. Before Felix, there was Heidi, the soccer player. Yes, Heidi. Jane was determined to leave no stone, athlete, or gender unturned in her quest to find _the_ one.

"Wow. You got all poetic on me for a moment there. Tenor of your heart? That's some deep shit. So, how serious are we talking? Rice throwing, white gown wearing, serious or something a little less dramatic?"

Jane's expression turned contemplative as she studied my face for a moment before answering. "Don't mock, Bella. It's serious. But, enough about me, what about you? Don't you think it's time you find someone you're serious about?"

"Hey, whoa," I exclaimed, gripping the take-out menus in my right hand and holding the palm of my left hand out towards her in a stop gesture. "Why are we discussing me? I'm fine. I don't need a man to know the tenor of my heart, or read my mind or whatever the hell else he does for you, to be happy. I'm happy being Bella, just Bella, thank you very much. I'm glad you've found something you thought you were missing in Demetri, but I'm not searching for anything because I'm not missing anything."

She studied my face a few seconds longer before sighing disgustedly and walking out of the kitchen towards the living room. "Whatever, Bella. I don't have time for this."

"Time for what?" I asked, throwing the menus down on the kitchen table and following her out.

"This, Bella! This! This typical Bella 'fuck the world, I can do bad all by myself' bullshit!" She spit out, turning towards me with pure fire in her eyes. "This has been you since the eighth grade, Bella! Aren't you tired of it by now? You have issues. I get it. But, Bella, everybody has something in their lives they have to work through. Everybody! It's not an excuse to hide away from life and fucking cut yourself off from all human contact!"

_What the hell? _

"What the hell are you talking about? How have I 'cut myself off from human contact,' Jane? Just because I haven't fucked my way through every varsity team from junior high to college claiming to be looking for my goddamned soul-mate doesn't make me a hermit!"

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Far be it for me to acknowledge that, though. Jane and I were nothing if not passionate, in a completely non-sexual sort of way, of course. From the moment we'd first met in Mrs. Banner's preschool class at Forks Elementary, when she bit my arm and yanked my hair after I refused to share my strawberry fruit roll-up, our relationship had been defined by our highs and lows. Most days, we were the best of friends. On those off days, well, I think the word _frenemies_ fits us best. The person who coined that term had to have known us.

Jane's eyes narrowed as her expression hardened, her childlike features seeming to morph into those of an avenging angel.

"You can fucking judge me all you want, Bella. At least I take chances. I'm trying! _I _open myself up! _I_ take risks! It doesn't always lead to happily ever after but I fucking try, damn it, which is more than I can say for you! When's the last time you went on a date, Bella, a real date? Do you even remember? When's the last time you allowed yourself to be emotionally available to anyone? Are you still Mike's fuck-buddy when he's between girlfriends?"

_Ouch. Don't mince words. _

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my right hand twitched in a sudden urge to slap her. Fortunately for me, my brain remembered the black eye I'd sported for two weeks when I'd slapped her for the first and last time in sixth grade. She'd called me a fat bitch for eating the last piece of her birthday cake and I'd had the bright idea of slapping her in response. Needless to say, I learned that day she had a wicked right cross, likely the result of growing up the baby girl in a family with four older brothers. The girl could bring the pain. I stilled myself, attempting to channel every shred of bravado left in me into my voice before speaking again.

"My relationship with Mike is none of your damn business. Just because I'm not attempting to hang my very own 'one million served' McDonalds' sign on the front door does not mean I'm unavailable. I get what I need from him and he gets what he needs from me. You don't have to like it or understand it."

"I understand it perfectly. You get fucked, Bella, figuratively and literally. He was your first. He's comfortable. He's easy. He knows you're always there for a good lay without any emotional involvement while he's between girls. And you hide behind this parasitic relationship in order to mask the fact that you're too damn scared to venture out and look for something more meaningful."

_Jeez, tell me what you really feel. _

Without wanting them to, my eyes stung with the force of unshed tears threatening to escape. I attempted to swallow over the lump that had amassed in my throat. _I'm not going to cry_, _I'm not going to cry_, I repeated to myself. Of all of the things I disliked about myself, my body's tendency to react to any kind of emotional stress with an onslaught of tears definitely ranked in the top five. I knew Jane disliked my off again, on again, barely there relationship with Mike Newton but I had never realized just how clear a read she had on our situation. The truth was, Mike was comfort food, in human form. He was bad for me, undoubtedly. But he was familiar, and, well, comfortable.

Jane appraised me silently as I furiously blinked back tears. She let out a shaky sigh, running her fingers through her light brown hair. Never one for self-censoring, I could tell she was worried she had gone a little too far. She walked over to me, grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together, and steered us both toward the couch.

"Don't you want more for yourself than that?" she asked in a softer voice, as she lowered herself on to the cushion, pulling me down alongside of her. Both of us sat in silence for a few seconds, our gazes transfixed on unseen points in front of us.

"I love you enough to want more for you, Bella. Why don't you? Where's _your_ life, Bella? You go from home to school to work and back home again. When you're home, you spend the entire time glued to your damn laptop eating, or lying on the couch in front of the TV eating, while you watch other people live their lives. You don't have any friends and Mike and your anonymous online buddies don't count. You've put on so much weight over the last few years that it can't be healthy. You're not living, Bella. You haven't been living for years. You're too young to be settling for this poor excuse for an existence."

I bit my lip as I lost the battle with my tears. They coursed quietly but steadily down my cheeks as I closed my eyes in contemplation. It was my turn to let out a shaky breath. In that moment, I debated opening myself up to Jane in a way I never had before. I debated telling her how scared I was of life, of living, of putting myself out there and being made fun of, rejected, or worst of all, ignored. I wanted to tell her how underappreciated and undervalued I'd always felt in all of my relationships, with my mother, my father and even with her. I wanted to tell her how my eventual discovery of my mother's infidelity and my father's persistent denial had drained me of any belief I'd once held in the permanence of love. I wanted to tell her that I would rather live the rest of my existence being nothing more than Mike's 'fuck-buddy' than to subject myself to the pain of my parents' hollow existence. I wanted to tell her how watching her jump from one failed relationship to the next only reinforced that feeling. I wanted to. Instead, I did what I did best, I deflected.

"I'm ordering Italian. Something stuffed and smothered in sauce. I can't do heavy emotions on an empty stomach and I am in desperate need of some comfort food." I pulled my hand from hers, using it to wipe my tears away, and hauled myself off of the couch. Carefully avoiding eye contact, I made my way back toward the kitchen and away from a silent Jane. Riffling through the menus again, I pulled out the menu for Piecora's Original New York Pizza & Pasta and grabbed the phone off of the counter.

Three hours, and one large serving of cannelloni, later, I sat alone on the couch with my laptop in hand, mindlessly flipping through channels as snippets of my latest and greatest fight with Jane replayed through my head. After I left the living room earlier, Jane made no further attempts to engage me, silently leaving the apartment some time later. I knew we'd both said hurtful things to each other, but that was us. This wasn't the first time, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last. Neither of us had said anything to cause any lasting damage to our friendship but I was still feeling unsettled by her take on my life.

Truth be told, I knew she was right. I knew my relationship, or whatever it was called, with Mike was unhealthy and had been since the eleventh grade. At that time, I was simply a chubby girl with a pretty face and no self-esteem. Being pursued, albeit secretly, by Forks High School's star running back made me feel special at the time. I wasn't stupid, though. It quickly became clear that Mike would only come around when he and head cheerleader, Jessica Stanley, were going through one of their numerous break-ups. I wasn't picky, either. Awkward social skills and extra padding aside, I still had the hormones of a typical American teenage girl and Mike became a convenient way for me to scratch that itch. Even though we'd ended up at colleges in different states, we fell back into our trusty pattern whenever we were both in Forks at the same time.

Aside from Jane, and the occasional hook-up with Mike, I'd done an excellent job avoiding meaningful relationships. I'd long ago convinced myself that having Jane as a best friend was a fulltime job leaving no time or energy for any other people. My social life was limited to random one-liners, prescient and somewhat funny sarcastic remarks, posted in the online forums of my favorite TV shows. There, I could be the social butterfly I couldn't dare be in real life. In real life, I was a closed book with a deceiving cover. The image of myself I projected to the world hid the sadness, bordering on depression, that I constantly battled to keep at bay.

I wasn't happy, and hadn't been for a long time. It wasn't about the weight. Or at least, it was about so much more than just the weight. I knew enough about myself to understand that the weight was mostly a symptom of deeper issues. A symptom of my love of food, to be sure, but the deeper issues were undeniably there. I knew I needed to do something different. I knew I needed to change. What I didn't know was where to start. Could _Big Fat Chance_ be my start? Did I want it to be? I knew from past seasons that the show always started with fifty contestants from each of the fifty states, but after the show's first week, that crop was narrowed down to fourteen contestants. Was there anyway I could make the cut? If I did, could I even survive a months-long stint holed up in a house with a number of underfed and overemotional strangers? Did I want to?

Frustrated, I threw the remote to the other side of the couch and stood up, yawning and stretching my body before plopping back down on the couch. I grabbed my cell phone off of the coffee table and took a deep breath as I hit speed dial. The phone rang a couple of times before I heard the voice I was seeking. I cleared my throat.

"Jane? Tell me about _Big Fat Chance_."

**x-x-x**

The six months following my college graduation passed quickly in a flurry of interviews, meet and greets, and more interviews. Shortly after I called the casting director Jane had heard back from, I was on a plane to California, being interviewed in person. Apparently, I hadn't been completely repulsive, or maybe I had and that's what they were looking for. Either way, I was invited by the casting director to stay a few days longer to perform a screen test and meet 'a few other people' from the show's production team. I soon learned that the Seattle concept of 'a few' and the LA concept of 'a few' differed vastly. My next couple of days were jammed with meetings with the casting director (again), physicians, psychologists, producers and dozens of their assistants. I even had a sit down with a few of the show's contestants from previous seasons, and they, too, had assistants.

Three months later, I was back in my Seattle apartment when I received a phone call from one of the _Big Fat Chance_ producers. I was in. I would be representing the great state of Washington. Oh, and I had a total of three weeks to wrap up my life in Seattle before reporting to LA to begin my stint as a _Big Fat Chance_ contestant.

Upon my return to LA, mountains of paperwork to be read, signed and returned were shoved in my face. I read, or, let's be honest, pretended to read, so many contracts, waivers, disclaimers and other random pieces of paper that I'm pretty sure I signed not only my life away, but probably my first born and all of his or her progeny, as well.

_All this and I may not even make it past the first round?_

I met with BFC (as I had taken to calling the show) producers again and was given the rundown on what I could expect to encounter during this experience. The show would begin with fifty contestants of various backgrounds from across the country. We would begin as one group and after ten days of working with, and being observed by, the show's two trainers, thirty-six disappointed people would be sent back home. The lucky fourteen contestants selected to continue would be broken into two teams, each chosen by a separate trainer, and made to battle week after week for their continued survival on the Fat Farm (their demeaning terminology, not mine). The end of each ten day period would culminate in each of the remaining contestants swallowing their pride, stepping onto the _Big Fat Chance_ grand scale and revealing their progress, or lack thereof, to their fellow contestants, trainers and the rest of America. At the end of each weigh in, the bottom three contestants with the lowest weight loss percentage stood the chance of being sent home. The last person standing at the end of the sixteenth week walked away with instant fame, half of a million dollars, and most importantly, an improved body and the chance for a new lease on life.

Of course, in exchange for that chance, we were each giving up any semblance of privacy, consenting to have our lives documented and displayed. There would be days of the week when the camera crews weren't there, thank God, but if selected, each of us would need to be available off and on for an entire year of our lives for actual filming, photo shoots, press junkets and any and all promotional events. When I asked about living expenses (after all, I would have college loans waiting to be repaid) I breathed a little easier when I was informed we would each receive a four hundred dollar a week stipend for our time on the farm.

Excessive swearing was not condoned; however, we were _encouraged_ to "fully express ourselves," which I understood to mean the occasional random ratings-getting outburst would definitely be appreciated— especially when in front of the cameras. If we made it past the first ten days, we'd be expected to prepare our own meals, though I doubted my famous mushroom ravioli would ever be welcomed on the menu. There wouldn't be any television, book reading, newspaper reading, phone access, or internet during our time on the farm although, we'd be graced with the occasional randomly selected musical selection on non-filming days (something about copyright infringement and a whole bunch of other legal lingo that signified the total sensory deprivation I was signing up for). In other words, we were expected to be a bunch of overweight strangers, smiling, grimacing, arguing, possibly back-stabbing and definitely sweating our way thorough the next sixteen weeks together, if we were lucky.

_Why was I doing this again?_

As the time for the show's actual filming grew closer, my excitement level climbed so high that I actually started dreaming about being on the show— nightly. In my dreams, I took to the strenuous work outs like a fish to water, never complaining, never disappointing, always surprising and always exceeding expectations. I quickly became the darling of both trainers, and the envy of every other contestant. Of course, I made the cut and Edward was my trainer, though Rosalie fought a hard fight in an attempt to get the privilege. And of course, I was Edward's favorite contestant to train. The other females on my team were jealous of the easy rapport Edward and I established, the way we traded sarcastic remarks and laughed over our abundant witticism. _A man that attractive would have to be witty, wouldn't he?_

Sure, he yelled and screamed a lot at contestants and reduced a few to tears, as he'd done in every other season. That turned out to be just for the cameras though, and in me he could find no flaws; so I was never the target of his well-known fury. At the end of the sixteen weeks, I was down to my 120 pound goal weight, looking fabulous and feeling better than ever. I was crowned the winner and given bragging rights along with the half million in prize money. My phone was ringing off the hook with endorsement offers from big name companies and my agent (of course I'd have to hire one) was calling me multiple times a day to discuss my future plans. Some nights, these dreams were so vivid that I awoke in my hotel room fully expecting to rise and be greeted in the mirror by the image of my new and improved self. On these mornings, to say I was disappointed to realize that not only was the competition not over, but that it hadn't even begun, would be an understatement of epic proportions.

Dreams aside, departure day eventually arrived and I was transported by limo from a downtown LA hotel to what I was told was the staging point for our journey to the Fat Farm. It was there that I got my first cursory introduction to the other forty-nine contestants I hadn't previously been allowed to formally meet even though we'd all been staying at the same hotel. By eleven o'clock that morning all fifty of us were settled on large, plush, coach buses, along with several producers and a plethora of production assistants.

During the ride, one of the contestants, whose name I'd forgotten thirty seconds after hearing it, an older woman with flaming red hair and lipstick to match, remarked how similar the bus experience was to her days as an elementary school teacher in her home state. It wasn't long before she, and a charismatic blond man, seated in the row across from her began leading the group in a round of campfire songs. After we'd exhausted The Farmer and the Dell, B-I-N-G-O, Wheels on the Bus and a rousing rendition of Row, Row, Row Your Boat in two-part harmony, the noise level slowly died down as contestants segued into quieter conversations with their respective seatmates.

Not at all out of character for me, I'd chosen a window seat towards the back of the bus a few rows away from any of the other contestants. It felt strange not to have my Blackberry available to entertain myself for the rest of the journey, but I'd decided to leave it at home since I knew they would be confiscated upon our arrival at the Fat Farm anyway. As I leaned the side of my head against the cool, hard glass, I stared out of the window, completely lost in thought as I watched the beautiful California landscape speed by. I felt the air around me stir as someone lowered their self into the seat directly next to me. I turned toward the aisle seat and took in the honey blond hair, striking blue eyes, and expressive face of the man who'd earlier been one of the co-conductors of the BFC impromptu sing-a-long.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock but I go by J.W., _not_ W, J.W." he said pronouncing the 'W' like Dubya.

"Well, hello _J_.W.," I said putting special emphasis on the 'J'. "I'm Isabella, but everybody calls me Bella. Well, at least, that's what they call me to my face. There was this one kid who drove me crazy in fifth grade who liked to call me Jelly Belly behind my—"

"Ha!" he said interrupting so loudly a few people a few rows up turned to stare at us. "Jelly Belly? J.B., it is, then. It's nice to make your acquaintance." I rolled my eyes, sighing dejectedly.

"Anyway, I'm just makin' the rounds, checkin' out the competition, and spreadin' a little Texas charm along the way."

"Wow, not only do you have an aversion to the 'W' but apparently the 'G' offends you, too?" I said making fun of his very pronounced southern accent. "Is this an aversion to all of the Bushes or just G.W. himself?"

He winked at me and smiled. "J.B., I like you. I think we're goin' to get along quite nice. Now, why's a pretty girl like yourself sittin' back here all by your lonesome?"

I wrinkled my eyebrows in concentration before answering him. "Is your accent really that strong?" I asked, distracted. He glanced around conspiratorially before bringing his head closer to mine.

"Nah, but people eat that shit up," he said losing the thick accent and settling into a cadence with only the slightest hint of a southern twang. "I don't know why, but people seem to feel more comfortable with a man with a southern accent. It's as if just by speaking, I make them feel infinitely smarter than they actually are and they let their guard down around me. I'm in this to win this, J.B., so I'm going to use every trick in my arsenal to pull this off." He winked at me, again and I had to smile at his attempt at game play.

"Ah, so you're _that_ guy," I said as if I'd just made a huge discovery. He raised an eyebrow questioningly in response. "I've watched every episode of every season of _Big Fat Chance_, and every season there's that one contestant that comes strategizing and playing the game from day one of the competition."

"Ahhh," he said as understanding dawned on him. "Yes, I guess I'm that guy."

"You know," I said, lowering my own voice. "That guy is usually one of the first contestants booted off because he overplays and under-thinks." He winked, again— apparently that was his thing.

"Don't pay that no never mind, darlin', I've got my thinkin' cap on and I'm fixin' to win big," he said, introducing an accent even more exaggerated than the first. I rolled my eyes— apparently, that was _my_ thing.

"Now if you'll excuse me pretty lady, I've got my eye on a pretty little thing up front I haven't introduced myself to yet." He tipped his non-existent hat and with some difficulty, hauled himself up and out of the chair squeezing his way through the aisle on his way to the front of the bus.

I'd only been staring out of the window a short while longer when I felt the bus slow as we pulled off of the main highway onto a side road. One of the young production assistants, pretty in what I considered a girl-next-door kind of way, began clearing her throat in an attempt to get everyone's attention.

"Hi guys, I think some of you have met me before, but for those of you who haven't I'm Angela and I'm one of the _Big Fat Chance_ production assistants you'll be spending a lot of time with along with my colleague, Ben here," she said in her perky valley-girl voice, gesturing behind her to a short, twenty-something man, with curly brown hair and a friendly face. "We'll be pulling up to the farm in just a sec, but there are some things we need to go over first."

Angela informed us that the 'farm' was actually a resort, nestled in the mountains of Santa Monica, spanning hundreds of acres of scenic terrain. When we arrived, we were to be greeted by the BFC camera crew and the filming would begin right away. We were instructed to smile pretty for the camera (her dorky terminology, not mine) as they took footage of each of us emerging from the bus. Afterwards, we'd be meeting in one of the main halls for a quick lunch and tour of the expansive property before being given our randomly selected room and roommate assignments.

The next afternoon, after each of us had gone through wardrobe, makeup and our first individual on-camera interviews, we were told to report to the front of the main building for our first group taping. Thoroughly excited to finally have the competition under way, we gathered together on the expansive front lawn, each of us clad in black t-shirts with the name of our home state printed on the front and back in white lettering. Alice, or Pennsylvania as her shirt identified her, was standing next to me, chatting away nervously.

"They're here!" she said excitedly, pointing past me.

I turned in the direction she was pointing, and everyone else seemed to be looking, and found the cause of her sudden excitement. Edward Cullen had emerged from the farm's main building, where the trainers, who would also be living on the farm for the next sixteen weeks, resided. A few feet behind him was Rosalie Hale and the sight of them together was enough to make my heart start pounding. Both of them were even more beautiful in person and I realized, at that moment, just how little television did them justice.

Rosalie was, undeniably, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in person. In fact, I was pretty sure my self-esteem dropped quite a few percentage points just by being in her presence. Her tan skin appeared flawless, her glossed lips were tinted a soft pink shade, and her hair, a thick, natural blonde mane, fell in silken waves around her shoulders. Even in plain black yoga pants and a fitted blue t-shirt she seemed more suited for a Parisian runway than an American game show. I'd always thought of Rosalie as a living Barbie, but in that moment, I realized in Rosalie's presence, even Barbie's self esteem would take a hit.

Even with the demand for attention Rosalie's beauty required, it was seeing Edward in person for the first time that caused blood to pound through my veins as heat flushed throughout my body. Without even realizing it, I held my breath, gnawing away on my bottom lip as I watched him move across the lawn. I tried to convince myself that my body's reaction was solely due to his celebrity stature, but even I, master of delusion, wasn't a good enough liar to truly believe that. Edward's angular face, GQ cover-worthy with its defined jaw-line, sharp nose and full lips, was the perfect canvas for his startlingly green eyes. His thick, unruly hair, which on television didn't seem to know whether it wanted to be brown, burnished red or something in between, seemed to have settled on bronze for the evening. Wearing simple knee length, khaki cargo shorts and an unassuming red t-shirt, Edward's athletic physique was impossible to miss. The muscles of his arms, long and tanned by the California sun, rippled as he stopped to shake hands with a few crew members. The taut definition of his well-defined calves gave evidence to the countless hours I was sure had to go into sculpting a body like his.

_He really is beautiful. _

After a moment, the production assistant, Ben, appeared alongside the show's host, Lauren Mallory, and brandishing a bull horn began shouting instructions.

"Okay, everybody, listen up. Welcome, again, to the Fat Farm. Be proud of yourselves for making it this far. Thousands sent in applications for the show, hundreds from each state. You represent them all. I think someone has been over this with you already, but let me go over it again. The cameramen will be roaming around constantly but go about your business as if they're not there. Unless, you're doing a one on one interview, they don't exist.

"You're about to start your first workout and Rosalie and Edward will be here to instruct, give some advice and observe. You will be expected to hit the gym daily, as instructed until the final day, when Rosalie and Edward will decide who's going home, and who is here to stay.

You will be expected to wear your home state shirts at all times. It's the only way the trainers will be able to identify you at this point because there are just too many of you. It's time to get started with your very first workout. Alabama through Missouri, you're doing exercises outside with Rosalie. Montana through Wyoming, you're in the gym with Edward. Starting tomorrow, you guys will alternate locations throughout the day. Work hard everybody, don't give up, and get ready to prove this is your _Big Fat Chance_!"

_Easier said than done. _

**x-x-x**

"Bella, how are you feeling?" Although I wasn't facing the door, I recognized Alice's voice as she entered our dorm room closing the door quietly behind her. I refused to turn and face her, remaining perfectly still in my supine position on the top of my bed. After I'd had my confrontation and subsequent meltdown in the gym earlier, storming out of that morning's work-out session, I figured it was only a matter of time before one of the producers, or their assistants, set out on a mission to extricate me from my self-imposed exile. I wasn't expecting Alice, though, because I was sure the confrontation aftermath was something the producers would kill to get on tape.

_Damn, there's probably a cameraman with her now. _

"Did they send you to fetch me?" I asked, rolling over and burying my face into my pillow. Contract aside, I was in no mood to cooperate with any members of the film crew hovering like vultures, waiting to capture and suck the remaining spirit out of me for the sake of a few more TV viewers.

"Nope, I sent myself. I thought you could use a friend," she said, her voice way too perky, considering the strenuous workout we'd just been doing. "The trainers released us for the day and everybody else is downstairs just cooling out. They're going to meet with us again in a few hours to talk diet and nutrition. "

I lifted my head from the confines of my pillow, looking around the room, only spotting Alice.

"No cameraman?" I asked in disbelief. I'd been so sure these were the exact moments they'd give their right arms to capture.

"Oh, he tried," Alice said nonchalantly. "I told him to give me a few minutes alone with you."

"That's all it takes to get them to back down?" I asked, genuinely curious. I was sure this would not be the last time I was the center of an event that would make for great TV and I was sure any tips on ditching the cameramen would come in handy.

"Well, that and I may have mentioned something about ripping his fucking balls off with my bare hands and stuffing them down his throat while he sleeps." I looked at her with a mixture of incredulity and awe.

"You didn't," I said smiling for what I was sure was the first time that day. She flashed an innocent smile, wriggling her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders.

"You're evil," I mumbled, sitting up. "I love it." We smiled at each other before descending into laughter. Up until that point, I hadn't realized how much pent up tension I was carrying. The laugher was cathartic, and after a few minutes, I felt some of the knots in my shoulders loosen. I rolled my head in an attempt to crack my neck in further relief of the tension that had settled there.

"Do they offer massages on this God-forsaken farm?" I asked as I began flexing some of my body's other muscles which were still flaring with pain in remembrance of their earlier torture.

"Not likely. But, I'll tell you what, when I found out I was on the show, I decided to reserve myself a 'congratulations for losing the weight' gift because I _will_ have lost the weight by the time this whole thing is over, whether I stay or go. I reserved a two week stay at this really awesome spa in a small town in Italy. One of my co-workers went there for her tenth anniversary and she could not stop raving about it. I haven't felt comfortable enough in my own skin to go, yet. But I figured making the reservation was a tangible way for me to get used to the idea that I'm here to change my life. If we're both still standing by the time this thing is over, why don't you join me?"

"Italy, huh?" She nodded as I bit my lip, contemplating her invitation. "You, me, our banging new bods, and the Italian countryside? That actually sounds awesome, Alice. I'm so in."

She squealed, actually squealed in excitement and walked over to my bed, gracefully lowering herself and pulling me into a tight hug. We held that position for a few seconds before slowly pulling apart. Alice rose from my bed, sighing and walking toward her dresser.

"I feel like a hot sticky mess right now, so I'm going to hop in the shower. You left your water bottle at the gym so I refilled it and brought it up for you," she said gesturing to the bright green bottle sitting on her nightstand as she opened up the room's tiny closet. She pulled a clean BFC t-shirt of the hanger along with some other garments and disappeared into the bathroom.

The mention of my water bottle seemed to trigger something in my brain causing my throat to suddenly feel parched. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and pushed off of the bed, plodding over to Alice's nightstand to retrieve my bottle. Taking a long swig of water, I stood there, looking at the various picture frames she'd arranged on her nightstand. Clearly, she expected to be here beyond the first ten days. I envied her confidence.

Most of the pictures were of Alice and an older man who I assumed to be Alice's father. As I bent down to take a closer look, I recognized Alice's hazel eyes in his face and knew without a doubt, he had to be her father. Her father, who appeared to be only a couple of inches taller than Alice's four foot ten inch frame, had a round, friendly face and even rounder body. His hair was mostly gray with only a few black sprigs serving as reminders of the color that once was. From the look of it, Alice had gone through quite an assortment of hairstyles through the years from long to super short, curly to bone straight and every hair color imaginable. For her sake, I thanked the powers that be for leading her to her current black asymmetrical bob which seemed to suit her face much better than most of the styles from her past.

I sat down on her bed for a while and continued to look over her photos, glimpsing snippets of her life. A smaller frame toward the back of the collection caught my eye, and I picked up the stainless steel frame staring at the picture it held. A much younger version of Alice smiled back at me. She was tiny, with thick black hair gathered at the top of her head in a thick bun. The front of her hair had been cut in to bangs that fell over her eyebrows and framed the rest of her face. She was wearing a small forest green petal dress that reached a few inches above her knees. Behind her were butterfly-shaped wings made of a white glittery iridescent mesh. Standing on her right, I recognized the much younger image of her father, thinner and with hair just as black as hers. On her left, stood a woman I hadn't seen in any of the other pictures on display. She was a petite, brown-eyed woman with chestnut colored hair and Alice's infectious smile. Both adults gazed down at Alice with breathtaking adoration. Alice's toothy grin conveyed every ounce of the joy she must have been feeling at the moment that picture was taken.

"I was Tinker Bell in my first school play," she said wistfully, towel-drying her hair and looking at the picture over my shoulder. I'd been so engrossed I hadn't heard her emerge from the bathroom. "I was the tiniest girl in my class and my teacher thought I'd make the perfect fairy. After that, I dreamed of fairies and princesses and wanted nothing more than to become an actress and head to Hollywood, or Disneyland, whichever."

I placed the frame back on her nightstand and she picked it up, smiling as she clearly remembered some point from her childhood. Her smile began to fade and she let out a resigned sigh.

"The next time I got a chance to try out for something, I was five years older, fifteen pounds heavier and knew way more about breast cancer than any ten year old girl ever should," a momentary look of sadness flashed across her face before quickly being replaced by a more resigned look. "I tried out for the part of Snow White and I ended up a dwarf. I was Happy. The dwarf that is, not me. From then on out, I became Happy to all of my classmates and even a few teachers."

"And you accepted that? The label, I mean?" I asked incredulously.

Alice sighed again before answering, turning her hazel eyes on me. "It could have been worse. It could have been a play with an ogre, a troll or," she shuddered, "an oompa loompa." She gave the picture one last longing look before setting it back on the nightstand. "Kids are cruel. I could have done a lot worse than Happy. Besides, I played the part well." We both knew she wasn't talking about the play.

"I was your stereotypical happy-go-lucky fat girl, always ready with the quick wit and a smile. Associate to many, real friend to few. Lonely, sad and desperate to just live, fully… the way my mom would have wanted me to." She said the last part so low I barely heard her.

"And have you ever? Lived, that is?" I questioned. She looked away, pondering my question for a moment before answering.

"I am now."

Silence descended heavily between us. We were both lost in our separate thoughts and separate memories of our different but shared pain. Although I hadn't dealt with the same familial grief it was clear she'd endured, I recognized aspects of myself in her words and inwardly renewed my determination to take advantage of the opportunity before me to change my life. After the utter failure of my first full day on the farm, I was sure I would not make it to the end of the competition. But I had ten days, ten days until the first elimination and I _would_ make the most of that time. _I could do this. I lost focus today, but I could do this. _This was bigger than Edward, bigger than the prize money and bigger than my own ego. This was about my life, my future, my chance to live, fully.

"I'm going to head downstairs after I blow dry my hair. Do you want to join me?" Alice said, interrupting my train of thought as she rummaged around in her dresser drawer, pulling out her blow dryer.

"I probably will. I think I'm going to hop in the shower first, though. I don't want everyone to smell me coming," I said, grabbing my towel, standing up and heading toward the bathroom.

With my muscles still protesting from my earlier workout, I climbed in the shower, sighing and actually purring in satisfaction when the hot water began to work its magic on my battered body. Fifteen minutes later, I was back on my bed, wrapped in a large fluffy white towel and feeling infinitely more relaxed. Alice had apparently left and I took a moment to stretch out on my bed and enjoy the coolness of the air on my freshly washed skin.

A light knock on the door roused me from my sleep and I sat up, a bit disoriented, looking around. I didn't remember drifting off and I wasn't sure how long I'd been lying there. I was sure Alice had come back to check on me and I yelled out "come in" as I secured my towel tightly under my arms. The door cracked open slowly and I saw the shock of bronze hair before I saw the face beneath it.

_What the hell?!_

As Edward walked fully into the room, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he took in my state of undress.

"Shit." The word was out of my mouth before I had a chance to compose a more coherent thought. "I thought you were Al—"

"Your roommate told me I could find—" he started saying at the same time I was speaking.

"I'll just talk to you later," he said, grabbing the door again and turning to exit.

"Wait!" I shouted, before it occurred to me it was probably better _not_ to converse with him wearing nothing but a towel. An angry blush made its way down my body as I attempted to recapture some of my nonchalant swagger. "Why were you looking for me?" Purported swagger aside, I kept a death grip on my towel, willing it not to disappoint and make the moment even more awkward than it already was.

"Uh, I wanted to talk about what happened earlier and I didn't want to do it on camera," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on mine in obvious discomfort. For a moment, I decided I rather enjoyed seeing him a little flustered. That moment passed quickly, however, as I remembered, again, that I was the one almost completely nude.

"So talk. I'm listening," I answered, my voice coming out a lot stronger than I'd realized it could.

His eyebrows pulled together as he frowned, seemingly strengthening his resolve.

"I may have pushed you a little harder than I intended, which I regret, but I don't do well with failure."

_Do well with failure?_

"Do well with failure? I've been here all of one day and you're already calling me a failure?!" My voice rose steadily as my previous discomfort gave way to anger. "Is this some new age training technique, Edward? Because if it's supposed to be motivating me, it's not fucking working!"

"No! I'm not calling you a failure! Jesus!" he hissed exasperatedly, running his hands nervously through his hair and pacing in front of my door. "Look, you're here to change your life. I assume you're here because you know Rosalie and I are good at what we do. I can guide you through this process, if you'll let me. I'm paid to help you do that, but you're going to have to step up your game and stop the whining or you'll never make it past the first round."

It was my turn to pace and I hopped up, maintaining the vise-like grip on my towel, and began pacing in front of my bed.

"Whining? Whining?! Do you want to know the last time I stepped on a treadmill before today, Edward? Do you? Try never. My exercise regiment consisted of me _tread_ing to the fridge and _tread_ing back to my couch. I watched every season of _Big Fat Chance_ from my super comfy couch with a big bag of chips in my hand and a bottle of soda within reach. So _excuse_ me if I seemed a bit overwhelmed and whiny today. Forget the fact that I managed to hang with you for a good hour before my body just couldn't do it anymore." From the corner of my eye, as I paced, I saw him roll his eyes. The anger I felt caused adrenaline to wash through me and in the age-old battle between flight and fight, my body chose fight.

"Look, pretty boy, I get it. You're perfection personified with your rock hard body and Hollywood life. You've got to understand it took a lifetime to get my body looking this good," I said, sarcasm oozing from my voice. "I don't care how many people like me you've trained into shape, you will never understand how hard this is for me. You can stand there and roll your eyes and pass judgment on me but you have no fucking clue! I took a big leap just coming here! You can't expect me to change over night. Someone like you can't possibl—"

"Don't." A look of pure irritation crossed his face as he interrupted me uttering that one simple word.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, Bella. You think because you've seen me on TV for a few seasons that you know everything there is to know about me? You think you've got me pegged because I have a nice face and as you say, a 'rock hard body'? I would expect someone like you to know better than that."

_Someone like me? Are you fucking kidding me? _

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Edward? Fat girls should know better than to judge a book by its cover? Well, fuck you, Mr. Prom King. You don't know shit about me!" I spat, my voice full of venom.

His eyes flashed with anger as his pacing stopped and he stood absolutely still, as if rooted to the floor. "Mr. Prom King?!" he shook his head, laughing sardonically and mumbling to himself. "I believe that would have been Tyler Crowley," he said bitterly as I looked on in confusion.

_Who the hell is Tyler Crowley_?

"Who the hell is Tyler Crowley and what does he have to do with any of this?" I asked, shaking my head in confusion.

"Tyler Crowley was Whitney Young High School's 2001 senior prom king. _I_ was the 291 pound fat kid who sat at home, alone might I add, on prom night because there was no way in hell, I was going to ask anyone and no way in hell anyone would have accepted if I did. Sorry Ms. Swan, I wasn't winning any popularity contests in high school, I mean for God's sake, my name is Edward! Ed-_ward_! Does that sound like the name of someone who'd be Mr. Popularity?!"

My mouth fell open as my mind raced trying to catch up with what he'd just said. As he resumed his circular pacing, I tried sneaking stealthy glimpses of his body, as if in looking, I would suddenly see evidence of the weight he used to carry. I was sure I had googled 'Edward Cullen' dozens of times before, but I had never heard or read anything about his personal battle with weight.

_Edward, fat? Edward, hard-body, Cullen overweight?! That couldn't be possible. This had to be a joke. _

Edward, meanwhile, continued speaking, seemingly completely unaware of the mental tailspin he'd just sent me in.

"I've been you, Bella. I _was_ you, for too damn long and I am so fucking grateful, everyday of my life that someone finally came into my life, holding a mirror up to my miserable existence, and kicking me in the ass. And even though I've worked as hard as I've worked and come as far as I've come, the journey's never over. It never fucking ends. Do you know I still look in the mirror and see every damn flaw?"

The look of anguish on his face in that moment was all the proof I needed of the truth of his words— the truth of his pain. His pacing paused momentarily before starting up again, this time, with his hands furiously raking through his hair.

"I still see the overweight kid I was for more than half of my life. But I don't make excuses. I stopped making excuses. I decided I was worth the fight, and now I do what I have to do to make myself a priority and not let my demons choke the life out of me one fat cell at a time. And you're worth it, too. But you'll never achieve anything if you don't start believing that." He stopped pacing and stared at me intently, as if his gaze alone could will me into believing.

"Bella, you have to believe that I've got your best interest at heart. You have to know that I won't push you harder than you can handle. You have to trust me. This won't work if you don't trust me."

I knew the moment was ripe for grand gestures. He had just opened himself up to me in a way I was sure he was not used to doing with other BFC contestants. Certainly, that kind of revelation would undoubtedly have made the show. I didn't know why he seemed to care so much about what I did but I couldn't help but feel a bit flattered. But, I was still a little sore, emotionally as well as physically, over our spat in the gym earlier that day.

"So, Edward, is part of 'trusting you' having to deal with you bringing up embarrassing habits of mine in front of everyone?" He looked confused for a moment before realization seemed to set in. I was sure he remembered his rude comment about my moaning. I didn't know how he had learned about my foodgasms but I sure as hell didn't appreciate him throwing that information in my face, embarrassing me in front of everyone.

"Yeah, that," he started. At least he had the decency to look somewhat chagrined. "I apologize for that. That was… inappropriate. The producers let us look at some of the video entries from time to time and yours left somewhat of an impression on me…" he trailed off as a look I couldn't quite identify flitted across his face.

_Wait, did he just blush?_

It occurred to me that I was probably the first person he'd ever seen almost orgasm over chocolate chip cookies and my blush returned with a vengeance.

"They were really good cookies," I said quietly in defense, staring at my toenails in avoidance of his gaze.

"I bet," he said and I raised my head just in time to catch his lips pull up into a crooked smirk.

_Oh God, I was just the recipient of the Edward Cullen smirk!_

Fan-girl moment over, I cleared my voice and met his gaze full on as a new perplexing thought entered my mind.

"Earlier, in the gym and… now, you keep calling me Bella. How do you know my name?"

"Isn't Bella your name?"

"It is, but I never told you my name and I assume all of my paperwork has me listed as Isabella, anyway. So how do you know my name?"

"Like I said, you made an impression," he said quietly, the slightest hint of color tinting his cheeks, again. "I saw your audition tape and it was… different. I saw something in you, something that maybe you yourself haven't seen yet. You stand out, in a good way. I probably shouldn't be saying this, but I think you have a real good chance of being successful if you're selected to stay. I can't promise you you'll be picked to stay, obviously, but I don't want to see you blow that chance because you gave up before you even got started."

Now _I_ was silent as I considered what he'd just said. The idea that I left an impression on Edward Cullen, an impression strong enough that months later, he still remembered not only my name, but details of the tape Jane sent in, astounded me.

"Edward, I get it. I do. I'm not going to lie, it's hard for me to have someone shouting orders at me and telling me what to do. It's even harder when that someone attempts to humiliate me in the process," he started to speak and I raised my hand to silence him.

"Let me finish. Even if you didn't do it on purpose, the feeling was the same. Obviously, I want to do this and I understand that I have to trust you. This is all new to me, Edward, all of this. The exercise, the setting goals, the making future plans, I haven't done much of it. I haven't really done any of it. This is a first. But I'm here, and believe me it's not because I have any grand desires to become a reality TV starlet. I'm here to start living. And like you said, I chose to be here and even though I may have entertained glorious delusions of how great I'd be at all of this, I do want to make this work for however long that may be."

He was silent for a moment, seemingly digesting my comments, before nodding his head in agreement and flashing a full on smile.

"All right, Bella, we'll make this work." He reached his hand out to me and I stepped forward (still strangling the non-existent life out of my towel) and extended my free hand toward his. Our hands met and I gasped as the strangest tingling sensation charged from the tip of my fingers throughout my body. Edward's eyes flew to mine and his look of confusion confirmed I wasn't the only one feeling the charge. He dropped my hand and half-step-stumbled back a step, rubbing his palm against his thigh.

"I… should go. This was probably a little improper considering…," he said, trailing off as he turned toward the door. I nodded in understanding as I stood in place, slightly dazed.

"Edward?" I called softly, as he turned the doorknob. He stopped, looking over his shoulder at me.

"Thank you." He appraised me for a second longer before nodding and exiting the room.

**x-x-x**

After my initial run-in, followed by peace-making, with Edward, I assumed I would no longer be the target of the Edward Cullen temper during workouts. I assumed wrong. In the gym, Edward was every bit as tough on me as he had been that very first day. I was constantly being told to pick up my pace, straighten my back, take my hands off the treadmill, and on and on. After a few too many days of that, my snark came back.

"Bella, can you act as though you want to be here and pick up your pace?"

"Edward, can you drop the condescension?"

"Bella, were you born with two left feet or did you actually have to work to get this uncoordinated?"

"Edward, I think you lost your social skills during your last run— go find them."

"Bella, you do understand that the treadmill is not a bike with handlebars? You are not supposed to hold on— let go."

"Edward, the strip joint called. They want their pole back, cleaned and sanitized after you extract it, of course."

Clearly, our peace-making had been more of a temporary, one-night truce than a long standing deal. Nothing in his demeanor ever even hinted at the conversation we'd had in my room. I began to wonder if the entire conversation had been a figment of my imagination— some kind of exercise induced hallucinatory episode. Either that, or Edward suffered from some sort of multiple personality disorder. I assumed the former; after all, it never made sense that he would pay specific attention to me anyway.

Edward wasn't the only one I had issues with. Apparently, the gym's treadmills were squarely on Edward's side because they refused to allow me to stay standing upright on them for any significant period of time. After three long days, two painful face plants, caught on camera of course, and a few trips to the onsite infirmary, my newly formed convictions were beginning to falter. Alice fought valiantly to keep me focused on my goal of making it through the first ten days. Alice was betting that if I visualized my destination, I would be able to see myself getting there faster. I was betting she was wrong. She said it worked for her so I tried visualizing Italy, Seattle, anywhere other than the farm. It didn't work for me. Even so, she became my rock in the gym, always working out next to me during group sessions and even accompanying— more like dragging— me to the gym after hours. She'd turned into a regular drill sergeant.

By day five, our army of two had grown to three. Apparently, my friend from the bus, J.W., had introduced himself to Alice on the very same bus ride. After I'd mentioned how extra friendly he seemed to be with her around the farm, she'd recruited him to join forces with us as we continued sweating our way toward our goal. Despite J.W.'s rabid game-playing, he actually turned out to be quite the motivator and enthusiastically joined us in our nightly after hour workouts. He did seem to have a harder time sticking with the eating restrictions we had been given, but Alice was vigilant enough to keep him in line. The three of us quickly bonded, offering each other encouragement, assistance, inspiration, empathy and most importantly, friendship as our time on the farm sped by. I didn't know if it was the extreme circumstances that made the difference or my new willingness to live life, but I realized I'd formed closer relationships with Alice and J.W. than I had with anyone I'd met in the last five years of my life. It felt surprisingly nice.

Over the next few days, other than to bark at me, Edward didn't speak to me often— at least, no more often than he did other contestants. Though the number of times I happened to look up and catch him staring at me before he'd quickly look away was a little unnerving. I could never decipher the looks he gave but I was sure he was only checking to see if I was as committed as I said I would be. Despite our constant war of words, for some reason, I was determined not to disappoint. Every evening, I fell into bed tired, sore and thoroughly wiped out, but every morning, I woke up and without complaint, did it all over again. Or, at least with minimal complaint— Alice said I was muttering Edward's name in my sleep along with random words like "death," "torture," "rip your throat out with my bare teeth " — but I didn't think that could be held against me.

By the time our tenth day on the farm finally arrived, most of the contestants were equal parts nervous and giddy. Alice, J.W. and I were no different. Each contestant was asked to do a quick rotation through hair and makeup, nothing too fancy, just enough not to scare away the viewing public. By two o'clock that afternoon, Ben and Angela began corralling us out onto the main lawn to begin the taping of the show's first elimination. Who would stay and who would go, was the collective concern on everyone's minds as we stood in the sun, waiting for the production assistants to position us around the large stage that had been erected on the front lawn. Alice, J.W. and I squeezed each other's hands, each of us whispering a heartfelt "good luck" to the other as we were directed to where we should stand. With thirty-six people being sent home, we all knew there was a good chance our journey together was coming to an end.

After a few staged camera shots of us screaming, yelling and otherwise pretending to have the time of our lives, the crowd grew quiet as Lauren, in all of her manufactured Hollywood perfection, made her way to the stage with Edward and Rosalie following behind. Several of the assistants scrambled on the stage quickly fitting all three of them with hidden microphones. Within minutes, Lauren was stepping to the front of the stage facing us as she waited for Ben to count down to one so the taping could begin.

"Alright guys, this is the moment of truth. A week ago, the fifty of you started your journey on the _Big Fat Chance_ Fat Farm knowing that only fourteen of you would move on. Your trainers have spent the week challenging you, working with you, and observing you in order to determine whose journey ends today and who gets one step closer to winning their _Big Fat Chance_. Each trainer will select seven contestants to move forward and those of you not selected will be returning to your rooms to pack your belongings and prepare to leave. With that, let's start the elimination." After Lauren concluded her speech, there was a small break while she took a swig from a bottle of water, and the production assistants positioned Edward and Rosalie in their respective places on the stage. Ben gave Rosalie the cue, and she began.

I tried to pay careful attention the contestants Rosalie chose to make up her team, but since most of the time we were split into groups of twenty-five with our trainers, I hadn't really gotten to know any of them enough to have preferences. There was polite applause after each name and I tried hard not to let the butterflies that had taken residence in my stomach, take flight as my nervous energy increased. My heart picked up speed and my pulse began to race when I realized she was on her sixth pick. I snuck a nervous glance at Edward, who I'd been trying to avoid making eye contact with, and surprisingly found him staring hard at me. I quickly looked away, upset that as always, his face revealed nothing. Unfortunately for me, that quick glance was enough to send my heart even further into overdrive and my ears began to pound with the force of the blood coursing through me.

I was so inwardly focused on calming myself that I hadn't even realized Edward had begun speaking. I tried hard to focus on his speech as he talked about the importance of taking chances, the importance of consistency and the importance of heart. When he implored each of us to find that spirit and drive within ourselves to continue the journey, whether or not we were chosen, his eyes flicked quickly toward mine and my heart began to sink. I was sure that message was directed at me and it wasn't until that moment, when the cold truth of disappointment washed over me, that I even realized how much I had really come to want this opportunity— to depend on it. As he began listing names, I felt like I was listening from underwater as I became lost in my own forlornness.

"_Seth Clearwater…"_

I couldn't even bring myself to offer the customary smile and hand clap as he called out the names of his new team.

"_Vera Henry…"_

What was I going to do? I didn't have another plan. My planning hadn't gone any farther than day ten.

"_Shelly Cope…"_

Would I go home and resume where I'd left off?

"_Amun El-Deeb..."_

I didn't think I could do that. Besides, Jane had moved in with Demetri after graduation and I didn't know where I would go.

"_Jasper Whitlock…"_

Could I afford a place on my own? I refused to go back and live in the dysfunction that was my parents' home.

"_Alice Brandon…"_

The mention of Alice's name pulled me out of the fog that had blanketed my mind. I looked up in time to see her bounding excitedly up the stage and only then realized that I'd missed the fact that J.W. had made it too. I felt immediate irritation with myself for having been so caught up that I'd missed being a part of the moment when my friends had been given the news of a lifetime. As I thought about the friendship the three of us had formed, the support we'd lent each other, I knew I would not go back and pick up where I'd left off before arriving on the farm.

This experience had changed me. In only ten days, I'd already come so far. Sure, I never did become the envy of any of my fellow contestants, at least, not that I was aware of, but I did surprise myself. I'd accepted a challenge and met it. I wasn't delusional enough to convince myself that I was a completely changed person. I hadn't even scratched the surface on dealing with the issues that had brought me to this point in the first place. I knew there was a ton of work left to be done and though I wasn't sure what the future would hold, for the first time, in a long time, I felt invigorated and ready to meet the challenge— maybe not quite head on, but something close to it.

"Would you prefer to go back to Washington?"

Startled out of my thoughts, I looked up, trying to figure out who had mentioned my home state. The people closest to me were quizzically looking around and my eyes swept the stage only to find each of the contestants there, both trainers, two cameramen and a host all staring down at me questioningly. Not sure if they were waiting for me to say something, my eyes found Alice. She was staring at me— hard.

"Did you say something?" I managed to squeak out.

Edward's eyebrows rose in disbelief before he sighed, "I want you on my team, Bella. Are you ready to take the chance?"

_Totally did not see that coming… _

_

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_**A/N** Thanks for reading! I'll start posting a multi-chaptered story of the same name soon.


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